


I've got to be good,  So I can see my baby when I leave this world...

by Sanshal



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Gen, M/M, Multi, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2442734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanshal/pseuds/Sanshal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes a picture spoke a thousand words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've got to be good,  So I can see my baby when I leave this world...

Title: **I've got to be good,  So I can see my baby when I leave this world...**

  
***************************************************************************************************************************************************

  
“You know, that picture has been sketched completely from imagination.”

I jumped- literally having missed the soft footfalls of TJ approaching; relaxing when the protective arms were wrapping themselves around my waist pulled me flush against his chest. And his chin came to rest on my shoulder.

“I don’t understand.” I confessed, glancing sideways  to peer my boyfriend’s face, “ this _is_ your father, right?”

“Yeah,” TJ agreed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Then how can you call it imagination?”

“Papa never lived past twenty one.”

I glanced down at the painting in my hands again, and no; the man in the picture was definitely past his twenties.

“So,” I began only to pause abruptly, remembering, “Wait, they were _all_ paintings; weren’t they?”

He nodded; his tip-tilted emerald green eyes twinkling as he watched me struggle to figure it out, “Dad was an amazing painter.”

I nodded, my eyes finding the picture again- a quiet bucolic scene of an omega standing at a fence with a child on his hip. The man in the picture was tall; his shoulders clearing the top of the fence with ease even though he was leaning sideways to accommodate the child on his hip. The wind played with his long- _ish_ (for a male omega) hair and the artist’s fascination with him was obvious- the tiny specks of gold in his eyes clear and laughing as he pointed something out to the child in his arms. Even the fact that the child was the omega’s own was unmistakable from the common slant of their eyes even if the boy hadn’t inherited his father’s Champaign hazel colouring.  
I looked up into those same eyes as I asked, “How old were you when-?”

“A year and a half.”

I failed to hide my wince- _to have never known your birth parents..._

But wait; he’d said ‘dad’-

“Who raised you?”

“Dad.”

_Okay; so I hadn’t heard that wrong._

And yet I couldn’t help but remember how he’d said he would introduce me to his parents and taken me to the cemetery to visit a pair of graves lying side-by-side.

“I’m confused.” I quirked an eyebrow,  “How did your Dad-?”

 _“Survive?”_ He filled in; apparently familiar with the question.

I nodded.

“From what Dad told me; apparently we’d run out of my cereal or something, so Papa put me in Dad’s arm and went across the street to the grocer’s... He never made it.”

“Hit and run?” I asked softly, my hand appearing tiny against his bicep where I had placed it in an empty effort to comfort.

He nodded, swallowing, “Dad would have followed-”

It was my turn to nod- after all; mates very _very_ rarely survived the demise of their partner-there were no ‘ _do overs’_ for Weres; once a partner died, their mates followed into the great beyond. Rarely lingering for more than a few days, weeks at most...

“But,” and here his voice broke; “Papa asked him to – _to”_ a lone tear escaped only to be quickly brushed away, “to raise me. Those were his final words: ‘ _take care of TJ’_ ”

I squeezed his arm gently.

“And so Dad did. He took care of me; gave me _everything..._ I was a month shy of twenty one when he finally deemed me mature enough to manage on my own. ”

I felt my own throat close up; it was said to be excruciating- losing your mate; the kind of pain that couldn’t be borne... literally trying to live without your heart...and to think TJ’s Dad had survived decades of it.

I glanced down at the picture again and thought of the strength it must have taken to sentence your own mate to a life of that kind of excruciating pain... And for TJ’s dad to have fulfilled his mate’s last wish despite what it cost him.

I wished I’d had the chance to know them.

Shakily I turned the page to the next painting and this one was of the omega under the open night sky as snowflakes drifted lazily around him.

“Dad said this was from the first time they’d met.”

I smiled, nodding- it wasn’t hard to see why the alpha had fallen for the boy in the picture: the omega was _ethereal._

The next page had the omega reading a book curled on the same couch as we were sitting on- his shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of skin where his stomach curved up with his unborn child. I brushed a light finger over the bulge; grateful to the man in the picture for having carried the amazing man sitting next to me in his stomach for nine months.

I flipped through the pages- all the paintings were exquisite and the care that had gone into each sketch spoke of how much TJ’s Dad still loved his mate. Of how time hadn’t healed the emptiness I was sure he’d felt since the second his mate had passed.

The paintings spoke of the life they had shared: young and head-over heels in love as they welcomed each day together. None of the paintings had TJ’s Dad- apparently the man didn’t feel the need to put himself in the frame- but there was always evidence that he’d been nearby: an second coffee mug in the one where the omega relished his morning coffee, faced raised to feel the warmth of the sun; a dent in the pillow in the one where the omega lay fast asleep, the moonlight caressing his skin lovingly; or even the empty space obviously meant for him in the one where the omega sat in his hospital bed with his newborn swaddled in blankets... And it spoke of the life as it could have been: major hallmarks of TJ’s life all with the omega present.

There were also a handful of just the omega; either standing in front of the mirror fixing his tie or at the table writing something... and the barest hints of age(a single grey strand in one, a few extra laugh lines in another) in those were the only indication that these had been done from imagination.

I felt the tears build behind my eyelids as I looked at each labour of love; glancing at TJ every once in a while to gauge his reaction.

“These are beautiful...” I whispered, not wanting to break the moment by speaking loudly.

“They are,” He agreed. “Wish they could have met you. They’d have loved you.”

I nodded, uncertain how else to reply.

“There is one more painting I’d like to show you,” He said after a moment, hesitantly adding, “It’s not as good as the rest- I don’t have my Dad’s gift... but I’d still appreciate it if you would agree to see it.”

“Sure,” I answered, taken aback by his hesitance.

Visibly steeling himself, he walked over to the mantle to pick up a single frame; handing it to me with shaky fingers.

I couldn’t help the startled squeak that escaped my lips when I saw it: it was a portrait of me-and despite his words, he obviously had his _'Dad's gift'_ ; but what was shocking was the wedding ring glimmering on my fingers.

“TJ?”

He smiled, adorable dimples breaking out which I instantly recognized from the paintings; and sank to one knee; “Would you do me the honour of being my mate?”

I nodded; unable to help the tears coursing down my cheeks as he slid the ring from the painting over my finger. As he enveloped me in a hug I couldn’t help but eye the thick book of paintings on the side table.

Guess I would be starting me own book now; and hopefully, there would be no need to employ my imagination.  


\------

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> written for this prompt:
> 
> I want a sad fic where one of the J's is dying, ABO is okay, or any other universe where the lose of your mate ends with you withering and dying aswell, so the whole story is about one of them slowly passing away remembering everything they did together, from how they met to the second the missing partner's heart stopped.  
> Warning: character death, mpreg, a/b/o.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N- Partially inspired by smallworld-inc's AMAZING ART on Deviant art. Here's the link to the picture.  
> Title from Pearl Jam's 'Last Kiss'.


End file.
